


Coming Home

by iamstarks



Category: North and South (UK TV), North and South - Ambiguous Fandom, North and South - Elizabeth Gaskell, North and South - Elizabeth Gaskell | UK TV
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Love, Misunderstandings, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:14:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27663887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamstarks/pseuds/iamstarks
Summary: Recreation of the concluding scene of the 2004 miniseries version of North and South, along with some follow-up with what might have happened next.  Based entirely on the miniseries version of the story.
Relationships: Margaret Hale/John Thornton
Comments: 113
Kudos: 131





	1. Where Are You Going?

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at writing fanfiction. I can certainly handle constructive criticism, but it might be helpful to know this is new to me. 
> 
> This began as an exercise to try to keep mentally sharp during pandemic lockdown. I thought I would just start with trying to create a written version of the concluding scene from the miniseries to practice descriptive writing, and then I decided to play a little with what that subsequent train ride might have looked like. It has been a very long time since I have done any sort of creative writing, so I thought it would be a good mental exercise. I have no idea how long this will end up being, or how frequently I will update it, if at all. I have enjoyed reading much of the other fanfiction on this site, and it has helped to pass the time during our lockdown. Hopefully at least one other person will find this does the same for them. Be well out there, and be kind to one another.

Margaret disembarked the train to stretch her legs for a moment. As she looked up, her breath caught in her chest, and she moved to push the loose strands of hair off her forehead so that her view might remain unimpeded. Could it possibly be him? Her eyes remained riveted to the train pulling into the station opposite her, and on one car in particular, as the beginning of an inadvertent smile crept upon her lips. She hardly dared to blink, lest this vision disappear. She was certain now. It was him, sitting casually in the window of the adjacent train, eyes downcast as though deep in thought. She felt drawn across the platform, as though an invisible cord tugged her steadily onward. No thoughts occupied her head other than that she needed to get closer, and that she must not let him out of her sight. 

Finally, the train halted, and John opened the door to get out for a bit of fresh air. He froze when he looked up and found himself face-to-face with Margaret, the one on whom his thoughts had lingered all during the train ride. What was she doing here? Where was she going? He approached her carefully; half afraid she would startle and bolt, with the hint of a smile turning up his lips.

Margaret could not maintain eye contact. She had never been this near a man so casually dressed before. John was only in shirtsleeves and a waistcoat, his cravat and jacket forgotten on the train. Her eyes kept darting to the open neck of his shirt, distracted by the indentation at the base of his throat, and startled by her own thoughts of how she would like to nestle there, touching her lips to that divot. Her breath kept hitching in her throat. John spoke to her, his voice a low rumble, “Where are you going?” As though it had only been hours since they had last spoken, instead of months. 

She managed to choke out the words, “To London. I’ve been to Milton.” It was still hard to look at him, his gaze intent upon her, and her eyes kept darting about. He nearly gasped when she replied; had she been to Milton to see him? Was it possible? He daren’t hope, and yet a spark ignited in his chest. He continued to study her, her chest heaving with every anxious breath. She felt as though she had dropped from a great height, and her body had yet to completely catch up with her. Her face felt hot, and her emotions were a jumble.

At last, he broke the silence. “You might guess where I’ve been,” he answered, his voice wavering slightly. He pulled out a small yellow rose from his pocket and presented it to her shyly. He knew that in revealing this, he was exposing his own emotions, and that his feelings towards her remained unchanged. Would she accept his offering? He finally dared to look up at her again, and the shock on her face was evident.

“To Helstone?” she puzzled. “I thought those had all gone.”

“I found it in the hedgerow. You have to look hard,” he explained, wanting to say more, but hesitant to reveal his inner thoughts completely until he was more sure of her own. “Why were you in Milton?” he queried, trying not to smile.

“On business,” Margaret replied brusquely. She was uncertain what this man would make of her actions, and she was anxious to be seen as a proper lady, with no cause for further reproach from Mr. Thornton. She knew that her own feelings had changed so dramatically over the past several months, but she remained uncertain of what Mr. Thornton’s were anymore. “That is, I have a business proposition. I need Henry to explain…” she turned to retrieve Henry Lennox from their compartment on the train, but John reached out a hand to stop her.

“You don’t need Henry to explain,” he said, his voice low. A tight, searing feeling tore across her chest. She felt the heat of his grasp on her arm, brief though it was. She glanced once more at Henry, trying to make a decision, finally ignoring his clear disapproval before hesitantly following Mr. Thornton to a nearby bench. Her heart thudded, and her face held an uncertain expression, her lips slightly parted, as though she couldn’t get enough air. 

They sat, Margaret with her hands held primly in her lap, fingering the yellow rose. A picture of ladylike grace, she was clearly flustered by the nearness of this usually stern man perched indecently close and turned towards her, with his arm along the bench behind her. She found it hard to think clearly, very aware of his proximity and his gaze upon her. “I have to get this right,” she stammered, “it’s a business proposition,” and she realized she was not only speaking of the logistics of the business proposal, but of her entire encounter with the man she had long since realized she loved desperately. She had to get this right. She had been given this chance to see him again, and she didn’t want to ruin it. Would he see through her business offering to understand what it was she was really giving? Being a woman, she knew she could not declare herself to him outright. How could she phrase her business proposal to adequately communicate her personal feelings? In her desperate struggle, she found herself fumbling with her words and repeating herself unnecessarily. Any onlooker could have observed her tension, her worry, and a desperate desire to please the man seated next to her, but Margaret had long since ceased to be aware of anyone else but John Thornton.

She finally found her business voice, “I have some 15,000 pounds,” she said. “It is lying in the bank at present earning very little interest.” She grew more confident, “Now, my financial advisors tell me that if you were to take this money, and use it to run Marlborough Mills, you could give me a very much better rate of interest.” She had avoided his eye contact until this last, and she then began to falter as the heat of his persistent gaze began to burn her cheeks. She dropped her eyes to her lap once again, and said more quietly, “So you see, it is only a business matter. You would not be obliged to me in any way.” John could hardly believe what he was hearing and seeing. He looked at her in wonder, desperate for confirmation of his suspicions. Margaret was clearly flustered, and her cheeks were pink, her eyes bright. He couldn’t hold back any longer before he found out if his feelings for her were reciprocated. Her business proposition had given him a glimmer of hope. He removed his arm from behind her, slowly, afraid of shattering the dream, and gently grasped her hand, still in her lap. “It is you who would be doing me…the service.” Her words drifted off then, startled by his hand upon her own. He looked at her beseechingly, willing her to meet his gaze. Instead, she startled him by haltingly and gently caressing his hand with her own.

Margaret’s nerves were twanging. She was astonished when John reached for her hand, and she hesitated briefly before touching it gently. She felt as though she couldn’t get enough air, and surely John must be able to hear the stuttering beat of her heart. She made a decision, and before she could second-guess herself, she bowed her head, bringing his hand to her lips. John felt an electric jolt in his chest, and he struggled to contain his emotions. He looked at her in wonder, before touching the side of her face to bring her chin up to look at him, a question in his eyes. At last, she returned his gaze, and he saw that his feelings were mirrored there. The train station had completely dissolved around them, and there was only the two of them, their hands clasped together against Margaret’s heart, and their heads bowing towards one another. She turned towards him as her eyes fluttered shut, a mute invitation, and he gently touched his lips to hers. Somehow, he managed to maintain some awareness of propriety, but he felt a sense of urgency as she returned his kiss, and he grasped her face with both hands, kissing her again and again, insistent, but gentle, feeling like she would disappear or he would wake up if he let go or stopped. All they could hear were their own heartbeats pounding in their ears, until the air was pierced by a station announcement that the London train was about to depart. Miss Hale startled, suddenly aware of her surroundings and what had just transpired. It briefly occurred to her to feel a sense of shame, but she resolutely shrugged it off and stepped away without a word, regal as ever. John felt as though perhaps he had frightened her with his outpouring of affection and emotion, not to mention his complete lack of regard for social rules, and he licked his own lips as if to reproach them for taking such a liberty, though he was hard-pressed to regret it just now. He turned his back, unable to watch Margaret leave him yet again. He felt as though the air had been crushed out of his lungs.

Miss Hale returned to her own carriage as Mr. Thornton turned away from her. Her heart pounded wildly at the daring step she was about to take, and it seemed that Henry predicted her choice. He held out her bag to her, she took it, and she returned to John’s side, all sense of protocol and social expectations completely forsaken. John glimpsed her reflection in the window across from him, and turned, somewhat startled, his eyes shining. “You’re coming home with me?” he asked in surprise, a hopeful smile blooming on his face. Margaret was afraid to speak, and no words would come had she wanted to. She felt completely incapable of forming words in that moment, so she silently handed her bag to John and preceded him into the northbound train. John climbed aboard in a daze, his limbs tingling, clinging to her bag as though it were a lifeline. He took his seat next to Margaret, and his arm found its home behind her once again. He couldn’t tear his gaze from her, and at last, she looked up at him, searchingly. Her mind was racing. She knew it was improper to do so, but she shocked herself by wanting him to kiss her again. He was happy to oblige, and he bent to her lips, until, at last, she gently turned her face away, once again the image of a proper young lady. John ducked his head and smiled sheepishly, still having trouble believing that this was not a dream.

The train rumbled out of the station and they were hurtling through the countryside, a blur of color outside the window. They remained silent for a long time, and John wondered if she would break the silence, or if he must. What could he even say at this point? How could he reveal his thoughts and feelings in the way of a gentleman, when he had just behaved in a most ungentlemanlike way by kissing her publicly…and repeatedly? And yet, here she was beside him. Perhaps she had ceased to judge him for his lack of gentlemanly pursuits and social graces. He grinned shyly again. A smile felt alien to him, and yet he was powerless to prevent it. It had been so many years since he had felt the compulsion to smile from pure emotion, and not from a sense of obligation as a social nicety. He glanced at her again. She was lightly pulling the yellow rose through her fingers, lost in thought. He pulled his arm snuggly against her shoulder, squeezing gently. This had the desired effect, and she looked up at him shyly through her lashes. “Hello,” he said quietly, silently cursing himself for such a prosaic opening. She smiled and looked down again, suddenly feeling terribly shy and unsure of herself. It was enchanting. He had seldom seen her so flustered. His eyes scanned her face, memorizing her delicate features, and those soft, slightly parted lips. His eyes remained riveted there, and he failed to notice when she looked back up at him, a fierce blush coloring her cheeks as she comprehended the direction of his gaze and intuited the tenor of his thoughts. She let out a tiny gasp of surprise, and his eyes were drawn back up to hers, his own cheeks coloring at being caught in a daydream. He chastely kissed her forehead instead, and tucked her against his shoulder, lips safely out of reach. “We should probably talk, Love,” he said into her hair, breathing in the scent of her. Margaret felt the rumble in John’s chest as he spoke, and she knew he was right, but she didn’t know where to begin. She had acted without thinking…AGAIN…she could not even begin to imagine what he must think of her, and a fresh blush spread across her face and down her neck.


	2. Coming Home

“Yes, I suppose we must,” she almost whispered. She decided that hiding behind the façade of business speak was the easiest route, so she rushed to say, “I have the paperwork in my bag, if you’d like to look over the details. It’s all in order. We can go to the bank at once and have the funds transferred, if you like. Marlborough Mills can continue running with very little interruption.”

“Margaret,” he said gently, tilting her face to look up at him. “We can talk business another time. That does not concern me at the moment.”

“Yes, well, I….” she faltered, not sure how much to reveal. A flash of inspiration. “Why were you in Helstone?” she countered, determined to put the burden back on him to lead the conversation.

John smiled and looked down. He thought for a moment about how to describe his actions. “Well,” he began slowly, “as I was facing the closure of the mill, I found myself wondering what you would make of the whole situation, and whether my actions would have made you proud or disappointed. I felt as though I had done right by my workers and done the best that I could under the circumstances, but you have always held up a mirror to me, so that I might see myself in a different light and from a different angle, and I wanted that insight once again. I felt that I might be close to you in spirit in a place that you considered your home, and so I went there to be near you, or the thought of you, at least. I wanted to know myself through your eyes, even if I found the judgement severe,” he ended softly.

“Mr. Thornton,” she stammered. “You must believe me when I tell you that I know I was mistaken in my early impressions of you. It has been quite some time now that I have repented the reproachful words I had used against you,” she finished lamely.

“I think you can call me John now, don’t you?” he replied with a wry smile. “Your first impressions of me were deplorable, and I hardly blame you for thinking ill of me. I have a temper, as you know, and I was a brute. You’ve no idea how bitterly I have regretted that being your first introduction to me. I can’t say that subsequent encounters painted me much better, to be frank. But, you gave me reason to pause, and to think—I have always considered myself a fair and just man, Margaret, but you opened my eyes to see that there was more I could do—that I could be a better man, not just for my workers, but for you.”

She looked down at her lap demurely, unsure how to respond to his declaration. Blast it! She still didn’t know how to respond to a man declaring his feelings for her. Why could she be articulate and confident when arguing a point of contention, only to dry up and stumble defensively the second a man—particularly THIS man—showed his depth of feeling for her?

“Margaret,” he gently prodded, “will you join me as a partner, not in business, but in life? I value your opinions, your intellect, your insights, and your compassionate mind. I want to be a better man for and with you, if you’ll let me.” He looked at her intently, willing her to find her words, feeling as though he knew she would accept him, but desperately needing confirmation from her.

“Yes, John,” she whispered, afraid her tongue would run away with her if she tried to formulate any thought beyond this simplest of responses. “Yes,” she said more firmly, looking up at him at last with wide eyes.

The sound of his given name felt like a caress, and John’s heart flipped in his chest. He brought his hand up to her cheek once more, before saying, almost in a whisper, “I love you, Margaret Hale.” Then he kissed her, before she could struggle to formulate a reply. There was no hesitation in this kiss, and no urgency. He breathed her in, taking his time, allowing her to adjust to the sensation. At first, she felt unsure and timid, and then she grew in confidence, finally pulling away slightly to breathe against his lips, “I love you too, John Thornton.” His lips smiled as he once again brushed them against hers before cradling her head against his shoulder.

It pained John to shatter the moment, but he had to be sure she knew what she was getting into. “Margaret,” he said hesitatingly, “I have nothing to offer you. The mill is closed, and it is likely too late to save it, even with your generous offer. We are leaving the Mill House. We must. I have no work, though I am hopeful that someone will take me on, and while I’m no stranger to hardship and hard work, it’s not the life I want for you. “

Margaret was silent for a long time, carefully considering her words. As much as she was proud herself, she knew that it was a devastating blow to Mr. Thornton’s pride to feel he had failed with Marlborough Mills. She wanted to handle her response delicately, so there was no mistaking her meaning for criticism. “Mr. Thornton,” she said at last. “John,” she corrected at the admonishing look he gave her. He smiled gently. “It has never been my expectation that I would marry someone to have them take care of me, or even to provide for me. I am no stranger to hard work either, believe it or not. It is my desire to be by your side, in good times and bad, and to provide whatever support I may to your endeavors. If my finances are enough to rescue the mill, then I will rejoice with you, and all those fortunate enough to be employed by Milton’s most honorable Master. But if not, then I shall work by your side to build a home and a life, whatever that may look like. I have judged you unfairly in the past, but I know you to be an honest, hard-working, and compassionate man. That is all that I desire.”

John’s throat felt tight. He knew any words he tried to speak would be strangled before he could release them. He tried to communicate his adoration and relief with his eyes, and he fervently kissed her hand. “Will you have me then, Margaret Hale, as your husband?” He felt like he needed to say the words directly, that his earlier statements were not enough to ensure no misunderstandings about what he wanted. Heaven knew they had suffered enough misunderstandings already. There was no room for doubt here. He struggled to believe that any of this was real, that he wasn’t just dreaming a beautiful dream while sleeping on the train. His head was ducked in supplication, and he looked up at her from beneath his long, dark lashes, his eyes a brilliant blue. He felt as though he couldn’t breathe, that his chest must be heaving with the effort. 

“Yes, John,” she replied softly. It tore at her heart to see this confident and imposing man so humbled and unsure. Underneath his stern and brusque exterior, he was sensitive and compassionate, and she was finally cognizant of the fact. She bit her lip. “I need to tell you something, though. About the man you saw me with at Outwood Station,” she said hesitatingly. “I know that you’ve thought badly of me for so long, but I was protecting another, and I couldn’t tell you before, though it pained me greatly to have you thinking ill of me.” She was nearly crying now, and her words were tumbling out in a rush. “Oh! You have no idea how I despaired over having lost your warm regard!” John gently took both her hands in his and gave her a soft smile. He expected she was about to reveal her brother to him, but he did not wish to unnerve her with an interruption. 

“You see, John, I have a…” she hesitated. “A brother,” she practically whispered. He smiled, but she didn’t see, as she was looking down at her lap, anxious that her concealment of the truth would damage his feelings for her. “That is who you saw me with at the station. We had to keep his presence in Milton a secret, as he is unfairly wanted by the Navy for treason, and his life was at stake. He came to say his final goodbyes to Mama, and with you being a magistrate, I didn’t want to test your loyalty to your position or to us by getting you involved, though I so desperately wanted to explain, so many times! I decided the death of your feelings for me was easier to bear than the death of my brother, but you have no idea how I struggled. I am sorry to have deceived you,” she finished softly. She continued with bowed head to toy with the yellow flower that was quickly wilting in her lap, holding her breath while she waited for him to respond.

“Margaret, will you look at me, please?” John asked. She blinked back her tears as she timidly looked up at his face. That dear face that she once thought cold and harsh was gazing at her with soft eyes and a smile. “While I was crushed at the time to believe that you loved another, it never diminished my feelings for you. My passion continued, despite all attempts on my part to pretend otherwise. I believed that my love must remain unrequited, and I could not be happier to be wrong.” He gently kissed her temple and embraced her.

He noticed through the window that they were approaching the outskirts of Milton, and he decided they must formulate a plan. He wanted no confrontation with his mother this evening, so it would be best to get Margaret settled somewhere for the night before he headed home. “Margaret,” he began slowly, “We need to discuss where you’ll stay. I don’t think it wise to bring you to the Mill House. We can find you a room at the inn…” he trailed off. “I don’t think that will work for long-term, however, as it would become expensive rather quickly.”

“I will stay at the inn tonight,” Margaret said with confidence she did not really feel. “And I intend to take a home for myself as soon as possible. Perhaps the man who helped us secure the house at Crampton can assist me in finding lodgings?” she queried.  
“I…Margaret, you’ll live alone?” John stammered. “Is that wise?” 

“And why not?” Margaret’s hackles were up, and her old defensiveness was guiding her response. “I am perfectly capable of keeping house for myself. Perhaps I can take on Higgins’ daughter Mary to help me with some of the work, if necessary, but really, it shan’t be necessary,” she replied haughtily, straightening her back and smoothing down her skirt primly as she edged just a tiny bit away from John.

“Of course you are capable, Love, I just meant—it will ignite some gossip, as you well know. “ John could not help but smile just the tiniest bit at seeing her attempt to cover her nerves with bravado.

“Well, as you well know, Mr. Thornton, I am not one to let gossip dictate my life choices,” she replied brusquely, and then caught herself, abruptly relaxed, and grinned at him. 

He smiled back at her and affectionately squeezed her shoulder. “I’ll contact Mr. Williams directly, first thing in the morning, and I’ll help you find a place to make your temporary home. But I would hope, not before too long, to find a home for us together.”  
The train slowed as they neared Milton station, and John hastily began buttoning the neck of his shirt and tying his cravat. Margaret watched him shyly, fascinated. He winked at her cheekily as he shrugged into his coat, and then took her hand in his. “I’ll see you settled at the inn, and then I’ll call for you first thing tomorrow morning, all right?” He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “You’ve no idea how…” he hesitated, reconsidering. “Margaret, you have made me the happiest of men today.”

Margaret placed her other hand atop his and looked up at him. “I am happy to be coming home,” she said steadily, for Milton truly had become her home. This is where she felt she had finally become a woman; one who had decided for herself what was important and what was just; where she had learned that the world was not all black and white—there were shades of gray—where she had learned what it meant to say “goodbye” to loved ones. She wanted no more “goodbyes” from people she loved. She was happy to have a “hello” today, with John, the man who had taught her what it meant to love.

As the train slowed to a stop, wheels screeching against the rails, John stole one last kiss, knowing they would soon be losing their privacy. He gently framed her face with his strong, slightly calloused hands, and lightly kissed her eyelids, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from her. At last, he bent his head and placed his lips to hers, trembling slightly with the exertion of restraint. They looked into each other’s eyes for a moment before standing, and John reached for her bag.


	3. Am I So Inferior?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the lovely feedback thus far! I honestly didn't think anyone would even read this, so I find myself in the unfortunate circumstance of not having planned ahead, and the going is slow on creating new content. For those of you who bear with me, thank you in advance for your patience.

After clambering down from the train to the station platform, Margaret felt a bit unsteady on her feet, and she pressed her palms to her abdomen to try to brace herself, taking slow deep breaths. John noticed her hesitation and gently guided her by the elbow towards the exit. “Margaret,” he said in a low voice, which prompted the hair on her arms to stand up, “are you unwell? If you’d be more comfortable, we can catch a cab to the Mill House instead of the inn?”

“I…I’m fine, John. I’ll be fine. I think I just need some rest. It has been a tiring day,” she replied haltingly. The enormity of her actions had hit her all at once, and she was finding herself a bit overwhelmed. All she wanted at this point was some quiet and the space to contemplate her feelings and the abrupt change in her circumstances. When she had left London this morning, she had no notion that she would end the day in Milton, betrothed to marry the man in whose eyes she had given up hope of ever redeeming herself.

“If you’re sure…” John’s voiced trailed off as he extended his elbow to Margaret, who took it gratefully. In his other hand, John carried her bag, and they walked purposefully towards the inn where Margaret was certain to spend a largely sleepless night. John kept glancing at her out of the side of his eye. His own emotions were in turmoil, and he was having trouble reading hers. He feared she was second-guessing her decision to come with him—second-guessing him as her choice. He recalled the upright and proper carriage of Henry Lennox in the train window and his own disheveled and rumpled appearance. He suddenly felt ashamed, that he wasn’t enough for Margaret, and he was plagued by a roiling combination of wild hope and self-doubt. “I’ll call for you in the morning, if that would be all right?” John asked gently.

“Yes, of course,” she replied. “Shall we meet with the bank straightaway as well?”

“If you wish, though I’m certain several hours or even a day or two of delay while you get settled would not make much of a difference, if you’d prefer it?” John hoped she would choose to “settle” and not conclude business immediately so that she could be on her way back to London. John’s nerves were a bow string pulled taut, and he felt himself retreating into his stern Master’s demeanor.

Margaret felt the sudden tension in Mr. Thornton’s arm beneath her hand, and she nervously looked up at him. His strong jaw was tight, and he was staring straight ahead, his posture rigid. She could sense the change in him, but was uncertain what had brought it on. Was he that uncomfortable with her financial assistance, or was there something else? Was he upset about her refusal to return to the Mill House with him? She stopped walking suddenly, and John was forced to turn and face her by the grip of her hand on his arm. He tried to maintain his aloof expression, but she had startled him, and he looked down at her, slightly bewildered. “What is it?” he asked somewhat more brusquely than he intended. 

“Mr. Thornton,” she began, “I hope you’re not upset that I’m staying at the inn. It’s only…” she faltered a moment to gather her wits. “I expect that your mother will need some time to adjust to the idea of me returning to Milton, and even more so to the idea of me having a financial interest in the Mill. I just imagined it might be best if she received the news in private, so that she doesn’t feel additional pressure to play hostess to one who has not met with her favor in the past.”

John smiled at her gratefully. “Yes, I believe you might be right there. I’m not upset; only concerned for your comfort and well-being.” He continued to lead her to the inn, patting the hand that rested on his arm. Reluctantly, he handed her into the building and saw that she secured rooms for the night. They stood awkwardly facing one another for a beat, and then John reached for her hand and brought it to his lips for a gentle kiss. “Good night, Miss Hale,” he said softly, unable to suppress a shy smile.

“Mr. Thornton,” she returned formally, smirking slightly herself. She reclaimed her bag and headed to her rooms with a fluttering in her chest. She had stayed in lodgings previously, of course, but never alone, and her nerves were as much for that prospect as they were for what awaited her in the morning.

Margaret awoke after a restless night of very little sleep. She examined herself in the mirror, searching for signs of the momentous change that had taken place in her life the previous night. Her chestnut brown hair was unkempt from her tossing and turning the night before, and she carefully arranged it back into a neat, secure bun, allowing a few soft tendrils to hang on either side of her face. She was grateful, at a time like this, to have had practice at dressing herself and performing her own toilette without the assistance of a maid. As she powdered her face, her gaze fell upon her lips, those two gentle and ripe bows. She paused, her lips parted, as she remembered the kisses which Mr. Thornton—John, she mentally corrected herself, her heart clenching at the thought—had bestowed upon them. She mindlessly touched her forefinger to her lips, recalling the sensation, and when her eyes returned back to the rest of her face, a pink flush was blooming on her cheeks. She would have no need of applying blush at this rate! She shook her head gently and resumed her morning routine, pausing for a moment to gaze into her own eyes, searching for evidence of her hidden feelings. Her clear blue eyes peered back at her; was it her imagination, or did they seem brighter today, despite the dark smudges beneath them belying her restless night? Were her eyes the same blue as Mr. Thornton’s, she wondered? She shivered slightly at the memory of his piercing gaze and startled as the maid entered with her breakfast tray.

After a light repast, she waited anxiously for John’s arrival. She paced the narrow confines of her room, wringing her hands agitatedly. What had been Mrs. Thornton’s reaction to the news of her return, of her investment offer, and of her betrothal to Mr. Thornton? Would the stern woman ever accept her, treat her as an equal? Margaret missed her own parents terribly, but she held no illusions that Mrs. Thornton would ever be maternal with her. The least she hoped for was cordial respect. She stopped suddenly at the realization that she would have to face her aunt and Edith as well. Her face blanched as she imagined Henry returning to London without her and how they must have reacted to his story of her behavior at the train station. How on Earth would she explain herself?

She stood at the window, biting at her lip and gazing unseeingly at the street below, her mind roiling. Her tired eyes glazed over, lulled by the regular coming and going of the people below and the constant, low din of city life. Suddenly, something familiar registered in her brain, and her attention was caught by a formidable figure striding purposefully down the street, his head bowed in what appeared to be determination. Margaret drew in a sharp breath, and tried in vain to slow the frantic beating of her heart. Would he always do this to her? She gathered her belongings together and headed downstairs to greet Mr. Thornton and face her future, uncertain as she felt about what it was going to look like.

John woke up early, if indeed one could claim that he had slept. The sun had not yet shown its face, and he was already pacing his room. Accustomed to not having a valet, John prepared himself with extra care, taking his time to carefully shave, bathe, and brush his clothing before donning his suit. Though it was a weekday, and John would normally be spending his day at the mill, he opted for a navy cravat and matching waistcoat, oblivious to the fact that they made his eyes a startling and brilliant shade of deep blue. With his dark, wavy hair and elevated height, Mr. John Thornton gave every appearance of a force to be reckoned with—a rather dashingly handsome force. At last, he felt ready to face his mother once again. She had not reacted magnanimously to his retelling of the events last night. Her angular face became increasingly stony as he explained the circumstances of meeting Miss Hale at the train station, her generous financial offer, and their subsequent declarations of their feelings for one another. Her eyes flashed with barely suppressed rage. At the conclusion of his tale, she practically spat out, “My, what a generous offer from someone who deigns to stoop to our level. I have avowed once to hate her, and hate her I still shall. I can only imagine that her outrageous offer has stoked her pride to unbearable heights. How on Earth did you manage to gain her acceptance of your hand, when she sees herself as so far above us?”

Mr. Thornton’s ire was piqued. “Am I so inferior?” his voice trembled with barely concealed anger and a hint of genuine trepidation. “Am I so undesirable that you cannot believe a woman would care for me? I once believed myself unworthy of her affections, and you assured me that she could do no better. You were mistaken, madam. It is I who could do no better. By hurling these accusations at her, you are wounding me.”

Mrs. Thornton’s shock was apparent on her face. Her lips pursed as though she had tasted a lemon or sipped rancid milk. She gazed at her son towering over her, his anger palpable. She could see that he was restraining the full force of his emotions; they positively radiated from him—a vibration in the air. She swallowed and cast her eyes down. “John, I…” she faltered. She took a moment and smoothed her black skirts with trembling hands. “I’m sorry. You know I believe you to be the best of men. I merely wish to protect you from hurt.”

“Mother, do you not realize that these past months have been an agony? This is the balm for my hurt.” He crossed over to kneel at her side, taking her hands in his own. “Please try, for me. Try to love her. Try to see her through my eyes.” She nodded, mutely, and then looked into his eyes with her watery brown ones. Her son had become a man long ago, long before he should have had to. It was only now, however, that she was able to see him as that man, an independent, strong man—one who didn’t need his mother, but who chose to keep her near—and she was suddenly overwhelmed by this realization. Was any mother ever so proud of her offspring? She thought her heart would burst. And then, she remembered. The rumors. The ugly, black rumors swirling around Miss Hale. They had faded with her departure, but surely they would be resurrected with her return. 

“John,” she gasped, “what of the man at Outwood Station? How can you forgive such an indiscretion?” She squeezed his hands, desperate for him to remain protected, sheltered from the pain of loving one unworthy. Lord only knew that she was familiar with the sentiment.

He smiled at her reassuringly. “It’s all right, Mother. He was her brother. Miss Hale didn’t tell me who he was because she wished to protect me from having to choose between my feelings for her and her family and my duty as a magistrate. He is wanted for mutiny, on false charges. He is now safely out of the country, and she has revealed the whole to me.”

Mrs. Thornton heard this in silence, biting back her counsel in recognition that her son was in no place to hear it. “Very well, John,” she said curtly. “I shall try, for you. Mind you, I won’t take any putting on airs or looking down her nose at me, nor any disrespect towards you. If she is sincere in her affections—if she at last recognizes your merits—then I can at least give her a chance to prove herself worthy of you.”

John smiled slightly, realizing that coming from his mother, this was a great deal indeed. “I must go, Mother. I told Miss Hale that I would call for her this morning. She is going to look for lodgings for the time being, and I’ll bring her by the Mill House later today. She’ll dine with us tonight.”


	4. I Am Your Servant

After leaving the Mill House, Mr. Thornton strode across the yard to consult with his overseer about securing a temporary home for Miss Hale. Williams had agreed to stay on for an extra week to close out the books and oversee the liquidation of the mill. John was glad he was available for this additional errand today, and he would be useful in restarting the mill now that they had Margaret’s financial backing. Williams set out on his mission immediately, and John left for the inn, his long strides and immaculate posture appearing confident, masking the trepidation in his heart. Would Miss Hale regret her impulsive decision, or would she truly remain with him in Milton? He would discover the truth soon enough, he thought grimly.

As he approached the inn, he caught a glimpse through the window of Margaret sitting primly in the front room, her small carpet bag clasped firmly in her lap, eyes wide. She looked slightly terrified, he thought, his confidence sagging. While he hadn’t forced her to join him on the train, kissing her in public had left her with little choice but to become his partner or face public shame for the indiscretion. Was she feeling trapped? John’s heart ached at the thought that he had unwittingly pressured or coerced her.

Margaret’s eyes connected with his then, and her face broke into a timid smile, wavering and then falling altogether when she saw the concerned expression on his face. She wondered what had caused him to look so preoccupied. They would have to exercise some northern forthrightness and come clean to one another, Margaret thought, but she doubted her ability to actually follow through. She stood to greet him, and John took her bag. “Are you well?” he asked quietly. His eyes scanned her face, looking for some indication of her thoughts and feelings.

“I’m quite all right, thank you. A little tired,” she admitted, somewhat breathless from the pounding of her heart. “And you?” she returned shyly.

“I am well, thank you. I have Williams looking for a place for you. He’ll have some options by this afternoon, I should hope. If you prefer, though, you are welcome at the Mill House. I’m sure we can arrange for a chaperone.” 

Margaret blushed at the thought of why a chaperone would be needed. “Thank you, Mr. Thornton, but I think it’s best if I remain on my own until we have things settled. It will give your mother and me the chance to reacquaint ourselves.” Margaret smiled nervously, that faltering half-smile that allowed the cracks in her self-confidence to peek through. “Now, shall we head to the bank to finalize the financials for the mill?” Margaret’s voice reverted to her business façade; trying to mask her feelings of insecurity and uncertainty by projecting bravado she did not feel. Speaking of financial matters was far easier than the agony of sharing one’s true feelings. 

John’s heart squeezed in his chest. So, he thought, she wants to get right to business. She’s going to leave after all. His face paled, and his eyes became hooded, trying to shutter his emotions before she could see the crushing disappointment reflected there. He clamped his jaw shut, the hardened line increasing the angularity of his face. He found a spot an inch above Margaret’s head, and directed his reply to it, unable to look her in the eye. “Certainly. Shall we?” and he offered her his elbow, a picture of cold civility. She took it, glancing at him anxiously. Something had changed, and she sensed that her world had shifted yet again, but the reason for the alteration in his demeanor escaped her understanding. She walked briskly, endeavoring to keep up with Mr. Thornton’s long, determined strides. He seemed unaware of her struggles and powered resolutely on, his eyes fixed unseeingly straight ahead. 

An outside observer would witness the Master of Marlborough Mills as he always was: a confident, poised, and imposing man with a cold exterior and places to be. Oh yes, his public persona was the product of many years’ cultivation after enduring the shame of his father’s failure and scandalous death, and his penury as he worked himself ragged to restore his family to a semblance of financial security. John Thornton was well-practiced at hiding his shame, his fear, and his heartbreak. He was able to nod in response to those who greeted him or touched their hats, and none was the wiser to the tangle of emotions warring within his breast, nor the cacophony of voices taunting him inside his head, recounting all of his failures, missteps, and moments of fumbling idiocy. He clamped his lips more tightly together as they neared the bank.

Margaret was not sure what to make of this Mr. Thornton. She was reminded of his forbidding countenance the day they had met at the mill, when he had beaten a man bloody and shouted for her to get out. She wasn’t afraid, exactly, but she was uneasy about the change that had come over him. This was not the gentle man who had held her on the train and spoken to her about his feelings. This was the overbearing mill Master, and the intensity of his countenance combined with the power of his walk was genuinely intimidating.

\------

Later that morning, their banking business concluded at last, Miss Hale and Mr. Thornton—for they were most definitely back to using formal terms of address after the emotionally detached financial calculations and business conversation—exited the bank, uncertain of their next steps. Margaret knew she had unresolved business in London, and it was clear to her that Mr. Thornton was not feeling particularly sociable that morning, so she determined to secure a train ticket and return at once to settle her affairs with her aunt’s family and retrieve her belongings. Perhaps things had not gone well with his mother, and he would benefit from some time to smooth things over a bit as well.

“Mr. Thornton,” she turned to him suddenly, and he struggled to meet her gaze. “Would you be so kind as to escort me to the station? I need to purchase a ticket so that I can settle things with my family back in London.” 

Mr. Thornton’s stony façade crumbled for a moment, sagging under the weight of his premature grief. He had known in his heart it was too good to be true. She was going to leave, and never come back. The scene in his drawing room from months earlier replayed itself in his head, and he wished he could turn away now as he had done then. Instead, he forced a blank expression onto his face, cleared his throat, and said as civilly as possible, “Of course. I am your servant, Miss Hale.” And he would be. His heart was indentured to her, whether she returned his affections or no. They walked on in uncomfortable silence, Mr. Thornton preparing himself for his mother’s invectives against his beloved once she found out Margaret had left him again, and Margaret attempting to sort out what exactly had gone wrong and how she could repair the rift that had clearly developed between them.

Mr. Thornton wasn’t the only one of them who had learned to wear a mask and hide emotions. Margaret had been schooled in the etiquette, bearing, and behavior of a clergyman’s daughter, raised in the knowledge that she must set an example in her father’s parish of poise, grace, morality, and virtue. As she neared her majority, she had become more outspoken when it came to cases of moral duty, as in when she had questioned Mr. Thornton about his workers and confronted the Masters at the Thornton’s supper. But in matters of the heart, she was completely untutored, and she fretted about where she had made a misstep in her budding relationship with John Thornton. A warm flush spread over her face as she inwardly cursed her own inadequacy. Perhaps Edith could give her some counsel while she was in London. Margaret felt suddenly that she had so very much to learn, and she nearly choked on a sob as she was reminded that her mother was no longer there to guide her. 

Mr. Thornton, alarmed at Margaret’s obvious distress, turned to her, a concerned expression on his face, “Are you all right, Miss Hale?”

“Y….yes, I…I’m fine, thank you. I was just thinking of Mama, and how I miss her so,” Margaret breathed out. “Sometimes I’m a bit overcome.”

John nodded grimly. He vividly remembered the sharp torture of those early months and even years after his father passed, and he imagined Margaret must have had an even closer relationship to her parents. This knowledge, however, did not loosen his tongue, and he was at a loss for how to comfort her when he was still nursing his own wounds over her apparent rejection. So, he patted her hand and gently steered her onwards towards the station. 

Their goodbye was strained. Each was remembering their last time at the station, just the previous day, and each recognized how differently the air between them now felt. Margaret was having a hard time meeting Mr. Thornton’s gaze, and he was finding it impossible to tear his eyes from her, memorizing her features lest he never see her again. All too soon, it was time for her to board the train to London, and John took her hand, brought it to his lips, and kissed it gently, holding it there far longer than necessary. Margaret’s cheeks flushed, and she stammered, “Goodbye, Mr. Thornton, I shall see you soon.” She wanted him to embrace her as he had yesterday, to hold her face in his warm, rough hands and kiss her, and she was embarrassed by her thoughts. She turned abruptly, and John watched her leave him yet again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will not pretend to understand (or care, really) about the terms/conditions of any financial arrangement between John and Margaret, so please forgive me for glossing over those details. Also, I'm uncertain about the direction of this chapter in general. Once I write a story one way, I find it extremely difficult to imagine it any other way, even though I might wish to. So, I'm interested in constructive feedback, if anyone has some to offer.


	5. I Left My Heart Behind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for all of the encouraging comments I've received on my first story! I also appreciate your patience as I muddle through this process. It's much harder than I anticipated, but I am enjoying the challenge, and hopefully some of you are enjoying the results as well!

Mr. Thornton could not bring himself to go directly home. He walked through the streets without purpose for quite some time before being drawn to the mill. Williams was waiting with a list of three available places for let, and John absentmindedly took the paper from him and went into his office, leaving his bewildered overseer standing in the doorway. “Williams, the mill will be reopening, and I count myself fortunate to have you still here to help me get things back up and running as quickly as possible. If we are lucky, we can renew some of the orders we had last week. Can I trust you to get in touch with Nicholas Higgins and secure the rehiring of the hands?” 

“Indeed, sir, right away. I’m right glad, Mr. Thornton. I knew you’d find a way, Sir.” He left abruptly and pulled the door closed behind him.

John sagged into his desk chair and held his head in his hands, ruffling his dark hair. What on Earth had just happened? Yesterday felt like a dream, and today was shaping up to be a nightmare. He was grateful to have the chance to reopen the mill, of course, but everything else felt like it was falling apart. Would the pieces of his life never fall together to become whole? He sighed, rubbing his face. How was he going to face his mother? He didn’t think he could stand her disgust. For all he was bewildered by Margaret’s leaving today, his heart beat for her still.

John pushed aside the papers on his desk and took the loan documents out of his breast pocket. He would throw himself into the mill. Miss Hale had entrusted him with her inheritance, and he would be damned if he was going to fail her in this. After filing the paperwork, he immediately began to draw up a list of the next steps needed to reopen and set to work tackling them.

\------

Margaret arrived in London tired, dusty, and in need of a bath and a change of clothes. Her carriage pulled up to her aunt’s home, and she was suddenly gripped by panic. She had attempted to collect her thoughts and rehearse what she wanted to say during the train ride, but she felt she had no reasonable explanation for her behavior. How was she supposed to justify herself for kissing a man everyone believed she disliked in a public place? And then leaving with him and not returning until the next day!? Scandals had flourished under far less outrageous circumstances. Margaret bit her lip with worry, took a deep breath, and steeled herself for whatever might come next.

Suddenly the door to her aunt’s home was flung open, and Edith came bursting out. “Margaret!” she exclaimed. “Oh! Thank heavens! We had feared the worst. What on Earth has happened? Do come in at once!” Edith grasped her hand and led a trembling Margaret into her home. “I saw you from the morning room, and I just can’t believe it. Henry told us that you left with that Mr. Thornton at the station stop? He didn’t tell us much else beyond that, I’m afraid. Your business is settled, then, I hope? We expected you back last night, and when you didn’t return…” Edith’s voice trailed off as she noticed the distressed look on Margaret’s face. “My dear, do take a seat. Let me call for some tea.”

Margaret took a shaky breath and smoothed out her skirts as she sat. She was grateful to have Edith to contend with first, rather than her aunt, but her carefully rehearsed plan was crushed with the knowledge that Henry had not revealed her scandalous behavior at the train station with John. She was going to have to explain her altered circumstances herself, and that prospect was not an appealing one. She couldn’t even discuss her feelings with the man she loved; how was she going to explain to her aunt and cousin, two women who wholeheartedly disapproved of the man in question?

Edith returned and brought her aunt in her wake, much to Margaret’s chagrin. “Good heavens, Margaret, what has happened to you? Where have you been?” her aunt practically bellowed. “We have been worried sick over you. And when Henry told us you met that Thornton man at the station…really, what were you thinking, leaving with him!?”

Margaret’s lip trembled as her eyes filled with unshed tears. She knew her family did not think highly of Mr. Thornton, but it stung to hear him spoken of with such venom in their tones. Venom she had once used herself, much to her eternal shame and regret. They just couldn’t understand. They didn’t know him—the real him. They didn’t know he was kind-hearted, sensitive, and compassionate. They didn’t know how he had struggled, how strong he was, how honorable. They didn’t know how much she had come to love him. She was struck by her sudden awareness of the strength of her sentiment. She had known she loved him, of course, but she didn’t realize the depth of her emotion until confronted with others’ disdain for him, and she knew, then and there, that she must put on her brave face and defend her choice.

Margaret impatiently swiped at her brimming eyes and sat up straighter, raising her chin defiantly. “My business in Milton is not concluded,” she declared. “I shall be returning once I have settled things here and collected my belongings. Mr. Thornton has accepted my help with the financial support of the mill, and I…I have accepted his proposal of marriage.” She steeled her voice as best as she could, but the effort left her quite breathless, and she inhaled deeply as she awaited their responses, her heart thudding against her ribs.

Stunned silence followed this proclamation, Aunt Shaw’s mouth gaping like a fish. Margaret endured the uncomfortable scene as long as she could before continuing in a rush, “I am here merely to collect my things and settle some affairs before returning to Milton. I wanted to inform you both in person of these developments. I shall be renting a home until the wedding, which will likely be sometime after the mill is back up and running.” Margaret paused, realizing suddenly that she and Mr. Thornton had absolutely no plan. They had declared their feelings, but had never agreed upon a timeline. She knew she didn’t want to be far from John for long, but did she want to spend several months living alone in Milton? Should she spend some time here with family first? She was upset with herself for leaving him so suddenly, for allowing the awkwardness between them to determine her actions, for making her practically flee with no plan in place. She would have to write to him at once, awkwardness be damned. She had always had an easier time expressing her feelings in writing, so perhaps she could address their strained farewell in her letter.

Her thoughts were interrupted by her aunt speaking at last. “Absolutely not!” she exploded. “I forbid it! What is the meaning of this? What are you thinking, girl? You cannot possibly be serious! Milton killed your mother. I’ll not have it claim my niece as well. And for you to marry that…that…that man! Unacceptable!” Aunt Shaw sputtered, her face purple with rage, and she fanned herself furiously, attempting to project her genteel breeding in the face of overwhelming outrage and disbelief.

Mercifully, the tea arrived at just that moment, diffusing some of the tension in the room. Edith poured, and they sipped in uncomfortable silence for several minutes. At last, Edith ventured timidly, “Margaret, I thought you disliked Mr. Thornton. Has something happened that changed your mind? Are you in some kind of trouble?” Aunt Shaw’s sharp intake of breath indicated she shared this fear.

Margaret took one more sip of tea to fortify herself before replying, and then set her cup down gently, willing her hands not to tremble. “I am not ‘in trouble,’ as you put it,” she said primly. You are correct, though. At the beginning of our acquaintance, I did not think as highly of Mr. Thornton as I do now. We suffered through several misunderstandings that prevented us from seeing one another’s true character. It has been many months, however, since I have considered him to be one of the finest gentlemen I have ever had the privilege of knowing. I am most grateful for the home you have provided for me here, Aunt Shaw, but the day I left Milton with you, I left my heart behind, I’m afraid.”

Aunt Shaw had no immediate response to this confession. Her eyes were downcast as she considered how to best handle this unfortunate situation, her mouth a terse line. Edith’s gaze shifted back and forth between her mother and Margaret, hesitant to speak, but desperate for more answers. Alas, she was to be disappointed. “Margaret, we shall discuss this later. Take yourself to your room and get yourself tidied. Mr. Lennox is coming for afternoon tea.” With that and a swirl of her skirts, her aunt vacated the room. Margaret was left alone with Edith, who opened her mouth to speak and satisfy her curiosity at last when her mother’s voice rang out shrilly from the hallway, “Edith, come with me, please.” With an apologetic glance at her cousin, Edith followed her mother.

Margaret wrung her hands together and drooped on the sofa, feeling a bit like a chastised child. She wasn’t sure what she had expected her aunt’s reaction to be to her news, but somehow, this was not it. And now she had to face Henry over tea. Her cheeks flamed with shame at the thought. After a few moments to collect herself, Margaret made her way upstairs for a bath and some reflection.

Margaret lingered in her bath as long as she could. She willed the warm water to soak away the tension she felt, but no bath was going to cure her ills. With a sigh, she forced herself to emerge and begin her toilette. She took extra care with her appearance, feeling the whole time that she was an imposter of a gently bred lady—underneath her carefully groomed hair and elegant couture she knew lurked someone shameful, and Henry had witnessed her imprudent behavior. Now she had to face him, in front of her family, and she was having trouble imagining the remainder of the day being anything other than an unmitigated disaster.

Margaret descended the stairs sometime later, just in time for tea. Mr. Henry Lennox was already in attendance, and he glanced at her briefly when she entered the room. She greeted him with a murmur and a curtsy, and he acknowledged her with a terse, “Margaret,” and a nod. Tea was going to be every bit as uncomfortable as she feared.

Aunt Shaw broke the strained silence that followed Margaret’s entrance by announcing to Henry, “I’m not sure if you could even begin to guess, but Margaret has accepted Mr. John Thornton’s hand in marriage.” Henry’s eyes flicked to Margaret’s briefly before returning to Mrs. Shaw’s grimacing face. He breathed for a moment, his face a mask of complacency, nothing on the exterior giving away his thoughts and emotions. He turned again to Margaret once he felt in complete control of himself.

“I imagined that might be the case when we last saw one another, Margaret, but I am pleased to hear it firsthand. I offer you my sincerest congratulations,” Henry said crisply, but not unkindly. He had not supposed Margaret to be one to give away her affections publicly without some intention of marriage, but he was relieved to find that Mr. Thornton had done the honorable thing and agreed to marry her after that shocking display at the train station. While he cared for Margaret, he had not relished the idea of being her champion for another man and insisting Mr. Thornton marry the woman he had once pursued himself, so it was a weight off his shoulders to learn this service would not be necessary.

“Congratulations? Do you congratulate her, Sir, on so imprudent a match? I had imagined at one time that you, Mr. Lennox, would be the one to marry our Margaret. Can you honestly be pleased to hear that she is to marry a man so beneath you that Margaret cannot claim him as her equal?” Mrs. Shaw huffed out incredulously.

Margaret looked at Henry hopefully. While she did not love him, he was her friend, and she had been grateful for his kind words a moment earlier. She was mortified by her aunt’s behavior, and she tried to apologize to Henry with her eyes. His eyes rested on hers for a few moments before he replied calmly. “I do indeed congratulate her, Mrs. Shaw. While I did at one time entertain the idea of a life with dear Margaret, it is my understanding that only the deepest love and affection could compel her to matrimony. If she has indeed found this with Mr. Thornton, than that is certainly something to celebrate.”

Margaret’s breath came out in a rush. She felt as though a tremendous weight had been lifted from her chest. She had at least one person who was acting supportive of her decision, although she had to admit, her advocate had come from a most unexpected source. Mrs. Shaw huffed indignantly and scoffed at Henry’s words, muttering something indistinctly under her breath.

“Well, I don’t support the match myself, and I think it’s most imprudent to even consider it. You must cry off, Margaret. No one else here in London knows about the engagement, so your reputation need not suffer in that regard, and I daresay a man like John Thornton will recover soon enough,” Mrs. Shaw submitted disdainfully.

“My dear Aunt, I am sorry, but that is impossible.” Margaret felt her cheeks flush at the memory of one of the reasons why it was impossible. She remembered John’s intense gaze, the brush of his lips against hers, and the way he had cradled her face in his palms as he kissed her again and again. She absent-mindedly touched a finger to her lip with this recollection and reddened more furiously as she noticed Henry watching her. “I have accepted Mr. Thornton’s proposal and I have no desire to ‘cry off’ from it. My sense of propriety will not allow it, nor will my affections for the man himself.”

“Propriety….? Margaret, what on Earth do you mean?” Mrs. Shaw demanded. Edith’s eyes widened in disbelief, and Henry watched Margaret intently, no doubt wondering just how much she was going to reveal. “Has that man compromised you in some way, Margaret? I swear I will wring his neck if he has taken advantage of my niece…” her voice trailed off with this vehement threat.

“Mr. Thornton has not taken any unwelcome liberties,” Margaret said carefully, with a nervous glance at Henry, who responded by raising one eyebrow at her addition of the word “unwelcome”. To be sure, Mr. Thornton and Margaret had both flagrantly defied multiple rules of social etiquette, but Margaret did not feel she had the fortitude to admit these details in this company, at this time. 

Mercifully, Henry said nothing, and Mrs. Shaw was too furious with her niece to continue the conversation any longer. Tea ended rather prematurely, and all parties vacated the room as quickly as acceptable in order to put an end to the unpleasantness. Margaret spent the rest of the evening in her chambers, requesting a tray for her evening meal, and to her great relief, no one questioned her decision or disturbed her further that night.

After eating and completing her nightly routine, Margaret sat at her escritoire in her nightgown and dressing robe, intending to write to Mr. Thornton in order to discuss their future plans and inform him of her safe arrival in London. She wanted to clear the air on whatever it was that had created such tension between them this morning as well. On more than one occasion, however, she caught herself staring unseeingly out the window, and after a fashion, decided she was much too fatigued for the monumental undertaking of actually admitting any of her feelings. She retired for another night of disturbed sleep.

\------

Mr. Thornton worked late into the night. He had gone out to the floor and inspected the machines, making sure none had yet been disassembled to be removed and that all were in good working order. He checked the storerooms to see what remained of their raw goods and made note of what he would need to order, hoping that he could regain some of the clients he had had to let down the previous week. Eventually, he returned to his office, thoroughly disheveled, and he continued to balance figures, write letters to clients explaining his change in circumstances, and calculate preliminary order needs from his suppliers. John was well aware that he was being cowardly in avoiding his mother, but he felt he needed to act—to DO something—and he couldn’t bear the thought of his mother’s censure on top of his already aching heart. In the early hours of the morning, John finally reached the point of exhaustion and his head found rest on his desk as the last candle sputtered out.

Mr. Thornton’s sleep was not dreamless, nor was it restful. His subconscious mind tormented him first with visions of passionate embraces with Margaret, followed by her equally passionate disdain and rejection a moment later. Over and over John’s heart soared with hope only to crash back to Earth, alone and broken. As dawn dusted the sky, he awoke with a sour taste in his mouth, a kink in his neck, and severely subdued spirits. His chest felt as though it had been carved hollow during the night. Reluctantly, he gathered his crumpled cravat and coat and ambled across the yard to his home.


	6. That Girl!

Margaret awoke to bright sunlight streaming through the sheer curtains. Her head ached, and she felt somewhat disoriented, taking a moment to remember where she was and what had transpired the day before. She stretched, trying to work out the soreness in her muscles from so much train travel within such a short period of time. Her slight frame had become unaccustomed to hard work and muscle strain in her months at Harley Street. It would feel good to be doing something productive again, once she returned to Milton. Milton…she needed to write to John. She hated that they had left one another with tension between them. She still did not understand what had caused John to become so distant and reticent, but now that she understood him better, she recognized that she would have to be the one to reach out first. Margaret would pen her letter after breakfast and hopefully a conversation with her cousin Edith to try to work out some of the more puzzling aspects of being in a committed relationship.

After her morning ablutions, she took a deep breath and prepared herself to face her aunt and cousin once again. Head held erect and proud, Margaret descended the stairs only to meet Mr. Henry Lennox being let in at the front door. “Henry!” she said, somewhat startled, “Good morning. What brings you here?”

“Good morning, Margaret. I wondered if I might have a word with you, please.” Henry gestured to the study where they had met previously to discuss her business proposal for Mr. Thornton. Margaret clasped her hands together tightly in front of her, willing them not to shake. She led the way apprehensively into the study, her mind racing to consider all the possibilities of why Henry might wish to speak with her privately.

Once in the study, Henry gently closed the door behind himself, and Margaret’s throat dried up. This all seemed rather serious; she was beginning to feel a rising panic. She paced about the room nervously while Henry stood, his hand still on the doorknob. “Margaret,” he began in a measured tone. He paused, pressing his lips together, staring at the carpet. “I know that I helped you draw up this business plan to lend financial support to Marlborough Mills, but I was under the impression that you wished to do so in order to provide steady employment for the workers, some of whom are your friends. As your financial advisor, and as your friend, I want to make certain that this plan has gone according to your wishes. You have not been pressured or coerced into a situation that is undesirable to you, have you?” He couldn’t help the hint of hope that crept into his voice, and he cleared his throat to try to mask it.

Margaret stopped pacing to look at Henry, her expression softening. She was touched by his genuine concern for her well-being, and while her romantic affections were only for Mr. Thornton, she was extremely grateful to have this gentleman as her friend. She considered her response carefully before replying at last. “Henry, I am most grateful for your support last night and for your concern this morning. It means a great deal to me that you care enough to preserve my comfort in a difficult situation with my aunt and to check on my well-being today, not to mention all of your assistance with my business affairs. Please rest assured, that yes, my intentions were to preserve the mill so that hundreds would not be left destitute, but among those hundreds are John Thornton and his family. I believe it was my main purpose to express to him my faith in his abilities and his goodness as a Master and as a man. The fact that he returns my affections was more than I could have hoped for, and I am very much looking forward to returning to Milton to begin my life with him.” 

Henry nodded, unable to meet her gaze. “I am glad to hear that all is well. I won’t keep you any longer, as I perceive you were on your way to breakfast when I called. I’ll see myself out.” He turned to open the door, and Margaret called to him impulsively.  
“Henry, wait.” She walked towards him, stopping just in front of him. “I am so grateful for your friendship Henry, truly. Thank you.” She reached out to shake his hand, a northern custom she now understood much better, unable to conceive of a more appropriate gesture for just this sort of moment, and he clasped it gently. He nodded again and left quietly. After a moment to steady herself, Margaret went down the hall to the breakfast room.

\------

Above the mill yard, a stern visage cloaked head-to-toe in mourning black looked down from her window, arms crossed over her chest. Her gaze followed her son as he walked dejectedly towards their home. She was an austere vision of rigidity and controlled emotions, and yet her eyes misted to see him so broken and tired. She had seen the lights flickering in his office when she retired for the night, and she could only imagine his current state had something to do with Miss Hale and her failure to appear for their promised meal the previous evening.

Mr. Thornton attempted to enter his home quietly, in the hopes that he could slink off to his rooms to tidy himself before having to face his mother. He felt a bit ashamed of his behavior the previous night, realizing she would have had Cook prepare supper for the three of them, and then probably sitting up worried when she had no word of why he had not returned with Miss Hale. Little did he realize that his mother had not only seen him come in, but she was fully aware of where he had spent the night. She had wisely chosen to leave him be instead of going to the mill to confront him when he was clearly upset. 

That girl, she thought bitterly. How dare she cast my son aside? She is unworthy of his affections, and flighty to boot. She rides in here on her high horse, nose in the air, thinking herself above us all, and then tries to trap my boy when she finds out he’s a respected gentleman, only to stomp on his heart when he asks for her…How dare she try to buy his forgiveness with her pity money and pretend to love him now….Pah! Probably thinks she’s too fine a lady to dine at my table, the fickle hoyden. Mrs. Thornton gritted her teeth together trying to suppress her rage. She knew her son well enough that he would come to her in time.

Mr. Thornton retired to his room and bathed, hoping to wash off the crushing disappointment along with the grime from the mill. He felt somewhat refreshed after a shave and fresh clothing, but his chest was still hollow. At least he once again had the appearance of a gentleman, if somewhat even more subdued than his usual demeanor. He headed to the breakfast room where his mother was already seated at the table, walked to her side, and dutifully kissed her cheek. She looked at him affectionately, determined that for once she would bite her tongue and permit him to lead the conversation when he was ready.

“I’m sorry about last night, Mother. I hope you didn’t go to too much trouble with the supper.”

“Don’t you worry yourself about that, John.” She sipped at her coffee, struggling against all her impulses to remain silent.

John prepared himself a plate and grabbed a cup of coffee from the sideboard. He was famished, but he knew the food would stick in his throat until he broke the news to his parent. “Mother, Miss Hale has returned to London. I do not know when or if she will return. She was unaware that I had planned on bringing her to supper, so please do not be upset with her for her absence last night.”

“And what business has she in London so soon after arriving here?” Mrs. Thornton couldn’t help herself. Her voice came out brittle and wry, and her disdain was clear.

“Mother,” John sighed, “I don’t pretend to understand the workings of Miss Hale’s mind. She said she had affairs to settle there, that is all.”

“And the mill?” his mother asked quietly.

“Safe,” he said simply, before attempting to eat what he could of his breakfast. They continued in silence for some time, the only sound the gentle clinking of silverware on the plates. John made a pretense of perusing the paper, but not a word of what he read penetrated his brain. At last, he pushed his plate away and stood. “I’ll be at the mill, Mother. We have lots to prepare.” He bent to kiss her cheek once more, and she grasped his arm, leaning her head against him for a moment, willing her strength to flow into him. She would give him her life-force, if she could. He held her head to him for a moment, and then left, transforming into the confident Master of Marlborough Mills before he entered the mill yard.

\------

While John was having a relatively silent breakfast with his mother, Margaret was greeted with glares and mumblings at her aunt’s table. Aunt Shaw was clearly still incensed at the idea of Margaret marrying a mill master from Milton, and she made sure everyone in hearing knew about it. Her fan made frequent appearances, as she attempted to cool herself from her outrage. Margaret sat herself next to Edith, who squeezed her hand affectionately under the table. Margaret smiled at her gratefully, and Edith whispered, “Let’s walk after breakfast.” Margaret nodded in relief.

Following their morning meal, the ladies walked out, accompanied by Edith’s abigail, who followed at a discreet distance. They walked several blocks without speaking, enjoying the fresh air, and Margaret finally felt free to unburden herself when they reached the green space at Park Crescent. “Edith,” she began shyly, “May I ask you something?”

“Of course, Margaret! Please! I imagine you have quite a lot to think about lately!”

“Well, it’s just, you’re married, and….” she faltered, beyond embarrassed to be having this discussion. “I have some questions about something that happened with Mr. Thornton.” 

Edith’s eyes widened in shock, “Margaret, you didn’t!” she gasped. 

Margaret turned to her, a puzzled look on her face. “Didn’t what?” Edith merely looked at her and waited. “It’s only, the night I returned to Milton, we declared our affections for one another, and he professed to have remained in love with me all this time since his first proposal.”

Edith interrupted her, “His first proposal? Margaret, I think you need to start at the beginning. The last I had heard from you, you disliked Mr. Thornton very much. Perhaps you could begin with when that changed.”

Margaret proceeded to explain the ways in which she and Mr. Thornton had begun to understand one another, and then she relayed the events of the strike and Mr. Thornton’s proposal, along with her vicious rejection of him.

“You see, Edith, I believed he was only proposing out of a sense of obligation because of my actions during the strike. Even though I had already grown to care for him, I didn’t want him to be with me because he felt he must, and so I rejected him, breaking my own heart in the process. He later insisted that he no longer felt anything for me, that he was ‘looking to the future’, and his future clearly would not include me. I had lost his good opinion, and I did not know how to reinstate it. My desire to support the mill with my inheritance was not born out of a hope to win his heart again, but I wanted him to know that I still respected and trusted him. When I learned that day at the station that he still cared for me…oh Edith! I did not even stop to think! I blush when I recall my impulsiveness. He was so tender and sweet on that journey back to Milton, and then the next morning, I just don’t know what happened. It was all business, and he was very withdrawn and quiet. I didn’t know what to do, so I came back here, hoping to give him some time and hoping to find some guidance from you, my dear cousin.” 

Here the ladies found a bench and sat, Edith clasping her cousin’s hand in her lap. “Margaret, that man loves you, no question. This has to be a miscommunication. You must write to him at once and tell him how you feel and make arrangements to be reunited. When misunderstandings are left alone for too long, they become insurmountable. My best advice to you is to be open with him—do not let unpleasant feelings fester. Because he truly loves you, and because he has been rejected by you before, I am willing to guess that he will allow your behavior to be his guide.”

Margaret thought this over as they strolled back to Harley Street some time later, and she knew that it was time to practice that northern forthrightness and get a letter out with the afternoon post. Hopefully he would receive it by tomorrow, and they could make plans for her return to Milton and their new lives together.

“Margaret,” Edith broke into her thoughts suddenly. “With your mother gone, I wonder…I mean, did she ever talk with you about marriage and what it entails? Do you know what to expect?”

Margaret reddened profusely. She had questions, to be sure, but talking about them aloud was another matter altogether. She shook her head back and forth, biting her lip, refusing to make eye contact with her cousin.

“Let’s talk over a cup of chocolate later tonight.” Edith squeezed her arm affectionately as they entered the house, and a mortified Margaret went to begin her letter.


	7. Dear John

Margaret sat for quite some time, trying to organize her thoughts. _Dear Mr. Thornton,_ she began, then crumpled her paper immediately. He had told her to call him John, she reminded herself. Should it be _Dear John, Dearest John?_ She had never written a letter to a love interest before, and she found that her conversation with Edith had proved less informative than she had hoped. With luck, she would be tutored more completely this evening, but that did not help her now.

_Dear John,_ she decided, tapping the end of her quill against her mouth, which pursed in deep concentration.

_I write to inform you that I have arrived safely to my aunt’s home in Harley Street. My aunt and cousin received me with a great deal of relief, having expected me to return home the previous day, so I am happy to have assuaged their worries._

_Hopefully this letter finds you well. I imagine that you have much to keep you busy. Were you able to rehire the workers for the mill? How do your preparations go? I am looking forward to a comprehensive tour of the place once it has returned to its working state. I confess that I was awed by the size and industriousness of the mill when I first arrived in Milton, and I should like to understand it more completely._

_I do not know how long I shall remain in London. I recognize that we have not had much time to discuss our plans for the future. I certainly do not wish to interfere with any work that is necessary to reopen the mill, so if you think it would be best for me to remain here for some time, I’m sure that I can arrange to do so._

Margaret looked over what she had written so far with a dawning realization. She had told Edith that it was “all business” the previous morning with Mr. Thornton. And just who had made it that way, hmm? She recognized with great chagrin, that it had been herself. She had been the one to suggest they depart for the bank straightaway to settle their financial business. Her letter, which was supposed to be a declaration of her feelings to the man she loved and was betrothed to marry, contained nothing but discussion of business thus far. She sighed, exasperated with herself, and crumpled yet another sheet of paper, throwing both her efforts into the fire.

She returned to her small desk with butterflies in her stomach. She was extremely uncomfortable with what she was about to do. She had rejected Mr. Thornton so vehemently when he had declared his feelings to her, and she was only now realizing just how difficult it must have been for him to unburden himself in that way. She put the quill to paper and said what was really in her heart, and the words that poured from her onto the page were not those of a well-bred, sophisticated lady. They were the words of a woman in love and they cast off any room for doubt as to those feelings. Before she could lose her nerve, Margaret sealed up her letter and deposited it for the post collection. She would need something to distract her from her apprehension until she received Mr. Thornton’s reply. It was going to be agony waiting to see how he responded to her missive and whether it would thaw the iciness she had felt when she had departed for London.

Margaret headed to the library and struggled in vain to fix her attention on the book in her hand while she waited for the minutes and hours of the day to pass by. In addition to her concerns over the letter she had just sent—one that so dramatically deviated from her usual manner of conducting herself—she was distracted by thoughts of what her conversation with Edith would reveal. Perhaps she should have waited to send her letter until she was better informed by her more worldly-wise cousin, she fretted. It was much too late now. Her fate was sealed—sealed AND delivered. Margaret sighed and turned a page, having read nothing of the previous. It was going to be a long day.

\------

John worked with great industriousness all throughout the day. The prospects of retaining some of their previous clients looked promising, and a few of the workers had already come back in order to begin production. They should be able to run at full capacity within a matter of weeks, which was good news for the state of Miss Hale’s inheritance. At the thought of Margaret, John sighed audibly and leaned back in his desk chair, fisting his hair and pulling at it frustration. What was she doing in London? Why had she returned to Milton with him only to leave again so abruptly? He had received no word from her as yet, despite knowing that she had been gone long enough for post sent out upon her arrival to have made its way to him by now. He felt this was a sure sign of her regret. She resented his actions at the train station and regretted coming home with him. He should have known not to be so forward with her. One would think he would have learned his lesson about such an open display of his feelings after his disastrous first proposal….And yet, she had returned his affections on the train—he was sure she had. And she had accepted his proposal. Blast it! Would he never understand her?

John stood up abruptly and began pacing the small confines of his office. Should he write to her? Surely he could get a letter to Harley Street. Would it be unheard of for a man to inquire after his fiancée’s well-being, even if said fiancée had abruptly left him a day after their betrothal? He traversed the office from one side to the next, turning sharply at each wall. He felt like an animal caged by his conflicting desires. On the one hand, he wanted to shield his heart, and reaching out to Margaret was providing an opening for another piercing arrow. On the other hand, he wanted Margaret, and something had clearly driven her from him, when she had before seemed to receive his attentions with pleasure. Could he pull her back to him with a simple letter? He felt as though he were still attached to her, by a cord secured just beneath his left breast. It tugged at him mercilessly, until he thought his heart would surely be torn from his chest with the force of it. And yet…and yet…he was afraid. He didn’t know if his heart could bear another outright rejection from her, and he was afraid to invite it by contacting her again, when she had so clearly desired to leave him. 

He slumped into his chair at last, defeated. All the animation left his body, and he was overwhelmed by a sudden fatigue gripping all of his limbs. He lay his head down on his desk, numb, willing blackness to fall over him and relieve him of his misery. Eventually, he slept.

\------

The day crawled by as Margaret listlessly drifted from one “womanly” pursuit to the next. She longed for something genuinely productive to do besides embroidery or mending. She sighed, dropping yet another book onto the sofa beside her. She thought of Bessie, working all of her short life, until she was too broken to go on, and she felt a little ashamed of resenting her own privilege. She missed her friend, and she longed to hear what she would have thought of the whole situation with John Thornton. Bessie had known, of course, that they would be drawn to each other. Margaret realized that now, and she smiled as she thought of her friend’s keen insight.

At last, all of the social niceties of tea and supper having mercifully concluded, Margaret and Edith retired to Edith’s room with a tray of hot chocolate and some biscuits. Margaret was eager to receive any insights from her cousin that she could, but she was far too apprehensive to begin the conversation herself, so she was forced to first endure Edith’s raptures over Sholto and the endearing and naughty things he had done that day, and the litany of praise for Captain Lennox and the life they had created together. After what felt like an eternity to Margaret, Edith at last said, “Ah, my dear, if only you could be so happy in love! I hope that you are able to admire your Mr. Thornton as much as I do the Captain, and that your children will be half as charming as my own, dear boy.”

“Yes, I hope for that as well, Edith. I shall count myself very blessed indeed, if that is the case. I regret, however, that I am at somewhat of a loss as to how one should carry oneself as a wife. My only example was my own poor mother, but I fear my more recent memories of her relationship with my father do not reflect the dream I hold for myself of affection and companionship in a marriage. What is expected of me as a bride and wife, dear cousin? Please instruct me so that I do not have another painful and awkward separation such as this!” Margaret fairly pleaded. “I have written to Mr. Thornton—John—and expressed a desire to see him again soon, along with the affection I have for him, but now I fear that it was unmaidenly of me, and I tremble to imagine how he shall think of me after he has received it.” Margaret blushed furiously here and buried her face in her hands. “Oh, Edith, tell me what to do, how to behave. I feel like a child back in the schoolroom, ignorant and unsophisticated!”

Edith, remembering the conversation she had had with her own mother on the eve of her wedding, decided to give Margaret the standard oration, rather than speaking from her own experience. Surely what her mother had imparted to her was what was appropriate for a young, as-yet-unmarried woman to hear? She would have her own experiences to draw on soon enough. Plus, Edith’s own history with the Captain had thus far mostly reflected what her mother had told her, though she admitted her mama had left out some rather pertinent details as to the physical aspects of one’s relationship with one’s husband…. “Mama told me that my duty as a wife is to be a support to my husband, to be a comfort to him. You must be willing to submit to his needs, both as regards the keeping of your home, and in the marriage bed. It need not be unpleasant for you, if your husband is an agreeable man. Mr. Thornton does seem rather domineering, Margaret. I hope that he will be kind and gentle with you, but if he really loves you, then I should think you have nothing to fear in that regard. As to your letter, Captain Lennox enjoys receiving notes of affection from me when he is away, so I think that’s rather expected of a couple in love with one another, not an unseemly act at all. I’m sure he’ll appreciate it, Margaret. Do not worry on that account.”

While this comforted Margaret a great deal, she felt as though her tutelage still left much to be desired. However, if Edith had shared with Margaret what her own mama had imparted to her, it must be sufficient. Margaret supposed she would find out herself soon enough, once she was back in Mr. Thornton’s company. She let out a long breath and attempted to refocus her attention on Edith, who had begun prattling on about something inconsequential once again.


	8. Tense with Restraint

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are almost there, folks! Bear with me a bit longer!

Margaret’s heart leapt into her throat as Mr. Thornton briskly strode to her, his eyes dark and his demeanor one of fervor and ardor. There was no hesitation as he embraced her, one hand gripping the fabric at the small of her back, and the other slipping along her throat and coming to rest behind her head, causing her hair to become unpinned and tumble down her back. Margaret’s breath came out in a rush just before he kissed her roughly, urgently, causing her knees to tremble and her skin to burn where he touched her. Her hands snapped up to cling to John’s arms, fingertips digging into his biceps, which were tense with restraint. John’s light stubble scraped gently against her cheek as he dipped his head, the heat of his kiss sliding along the slope of her neck…

Margaret awoke with a start, her heart thrumming in her chest and the rush of it echoing in her ears. Her skin felt unfamiliar and lit up, as though a lamp had been kindled within her. She gasped aloud and pressed her palms to the mattress, willing her body to calm itself. The dream had felt so real, and Margaret lay in the dark, a strange mixture of guilt and longing roiling through her, as she tried to catch her breath. Well, she supposed, it would not be entirely unwelcome if that was his reaction to my letter. She barked out a nervous laugh and covered her face with her hands, feeling embarrassed for her train of thought. Sleep did not come again very quickly for Margaret. She lay awake reliving her dream over and over, drifting off again only as the sky began to lose its inky blackness.

\------

Mr. Thornton was troubled with a dream of his own. In it he approached Margaret, humble and raw with emotion, only to find her eyes staring at him icily and disdainfully. He went to grasp her hand, to bring it to his lips, and her other hand snapped up to slap him. John awoke to stinging pain in his cheek, and it took him a moment to realize it was not from Margaret’s slap, but from the crease of the book on which he had fallen asleep. He rubbed his face and looked down at himself. He was a wreck. He’d be no good to any of his employees or clients if he worked himself ill. It was still dark outside, and John stumbled towards home at last to find his own bed and catch what rest he might before facing another day. He stretched out his neck as he walked, gazing up at the night sky. The stars twinkled back at him, and he was reminded of the old story about having one’s wish granted at the sight of the first star. He sent his wish up to the heavens with little hope of it being granted, feeling sheepish at the childish gesture. He kicked a stone, listening to it clatter across the courtyard, echoing off the walls. This place suddenly felt very empty, and he felt very much alone.

His dream of Miss Hale replayed itself throughout the night. At times she simply slapped him, at others, she spat out reproachful words about his lack of honor and propriety. Each dream ended with him feeling ashamed and disheartened, and it was a disturbed and exhausted Mr. Thornton who greeted the new and cheerlessly gray day the following morning. He washed himself quickly, eying himself critically in the mirror. It was a somewhat shattered man who looked back at him in the glass, and he forced himself to breathe steadily as he straightened his posture and assumed the imposing stance of the Master of Marlborough Mills once more.

His work began as usual, and John soon forgot himself in the overwhelming amount of matters that required his attention. He was grateful for the distraction reopening the mill provided, and he managed to go a couple of hours that morning without falling into morose thoughts. During a quiet moment balancing figures at his desk, Williams rapped sharply on the door. “Mail for you, Master,” said the overseer, casually placing the stack on John’s desk. John glanced at the pile briefly before returning to his books.

“Thank you, Williams,” he said dismissively, his pen once again scratching against paper methodically. Had he realized word from Margaret was contained within the stack, he might have reached for it like a man starving, but instead, his attention was completely absorbed by the figures before him.

\------

Margaret awoke late that morning, her sheets a tangle about her from a night of tossing and turning. She immediately flushed as fresh thoughts of the night’s dream flitted through her head. Mr. Thornton would receive her letter today, she knew. How long would she have to wait for his reply? She hoped he would end her apprehension quickly. She longed to return to Milton, to see his dear face again, and to receive his ardent kisses once more. She smiled to herself timorously and went to the dressing table to prepare for the day.

Aunt Shaw had planned out several social calls, which would irk Margaret under normal circumstances, but today she was most grateful for the distraction. Despite Edith’s encouraging words about her letter to Mr. Thornton, Margaret still had her doubts about its reception. He occupied her every thought, and she was shocked at herself for the direction of those imaginings. She wondered if this was how Mr. Thornton had considered her in those moments before that first, disastrous proposal. She developed more and more sympathy for the man with every moment, she thought to herself wryly. With one last glance at herself in the mirror, she headed out to face a full day of calls followed by shopping on Regent Street. Margaret needed nothing, but it would suffice to keep her from pacing her room or mindlessly leafing through books in the library for another day.

\------

At long last, coming to the end of the page, Mr. Thornton’s attention was caught by the pile of mail Williams had deposited on the corner of his desk. He leaned back in his chair as he flipped through the missives, sorting them as to priority based on the writer. Near the end of the pile, a feminine hand caught his eye, and he sharply drew in a breath and unknowingly held it as he noted the address of origin—Margaret. It had to be. His hands trembled slightly as he broke the seal to unfold the single sheet of paper. As his eyes quickly scanned the page, his breath came out all at once, fluttering the paper in his hands. His heart thumped against his ribs, and he quickly folded the document and stuffed it into the pocket of his coat before dashing out of his office. “Williams, I’m heading out. It’s possible I won’t return until tomorrow or the next. This week’s orders are on my desk. Can you please keep an eye on things while I’m away?”

“Indeed, sir, not a problem. Is everything all right, Master?” 

“Yes, Williams. For once, I do believe everything is all right,” John flashed an uncharacteristic smile in his overseer’s direction as he backed out the door and then took off across the mill yard. His long legs carried him quickly, but still John had to exercise some self-restraint not to break into a run. He burst into his home and took the stairs two at a time to his room, tearing his cravat and coat off as he went. Once in his chamber, he divested himself of his work clothes, washed his face, and selected his best suit. Packing a small case for himself, he removed Margaret’s letter from his work coat, scrawled the London address onto a fresh sheet of paper to leave with his mother, and tucked the letter back into the coat he now wore. He was ready. He felt as though he had spent the vast majority of his time until now waiting for his real life to begin, and now he was standing on the precipice. The future was here, and his heart squeezed at the thought that he might at last feel as though his world were whole.

Once downstairs, he handed his mother the address, explaining, “I’ll be in London, Mother, for at least a day or two. If you need to send word, use this address unless I inform you otherwise.”

Mrs. Thornton frowned down at the paper in her hand. Her son’s agitated state and his destination could mean only one thing—he was going to that damned girl to have his heart trampled yet again. She looked up at him, her eyes wet. “John, is this really necessary? Can you not conduct your business via post?” Her voice was flinty with unspoken admonishments. 

“Mother, no. I must go. Do not worry, please. Everything will be fine, you’ll see.” He kissed her forehead, and she closed her eyes, leaning into him for a moment. She prayed that Miss Hale would come to her senses and end her son’s agony. At the same time, however, she wondered if she would find it possible to forgive Margaret for the pain she had caused John, should the outcome of his trip be everything he desired.

“Be careful, John, and come back to me whole,” she said quietly. He nodded to her kindly, and departed.

At the station, Mr. Thornton scrambled to secure a ticket and climb aboard the London train just before it chugged out of the station. He had made it. He leaned his head against the seat, his hand on his heart and his letter. He pulled it out and carefully opened it to read over again, half afraid that he had misread it in his haste.

Once arrived in London, Mr. Thornton secured a hansom cab to take him directly to the Harley Street address. There would be no hesitation, no miscommunication. Margaret had made her feelings clear, and he was unwilling to spend another moment without her. Sadly, though, he would have to. The servant who opened the door to his knock informed him that Miss Hale was out and not expected to return until later that afternoon, possibly the evening. John was crestfallen, and his shoulders sagged under the weight of his disappointment. He walked aimlessly for a time, at last ending up in a fashionable shopping district. Suddenly, he had a flash of inspiration. He would purchase Margaret a symbol of his affection and devotion. After all, it was customary to provide one’s intended with a ring to symbolize their commitment. He hastened down the busy street, scanning intently for a jeweler. Finding one at last, he ducked inside.

\------

Margaret, Edith, and Aunt Shaw had finished their calls at last and were prepared to engage in some mindless browsing. Edith wanted to order some new clothing for Sholto, while Margaret hoped to peruse the booksellers. Aunt Shaw insisted on a stop at the modiste as well. While the distractions were most welcome, Margaret sighed at the thought of spending the rest of her day frivolously. Still, it was better than pacing the Harley Street house alone like a caged animal.

Several hours later, the ladies were famished and tired, ready to take their parcels home with them. While her aunt summoned their carriage, Margaret set about assembling her belongings, struggling to balance the books she had purchased with a more cumbersome package from the modiste. In her efforts, she stepped backwards slightly, right into oncoming foot traffic, and collided with a tall, solid frame. She dropped her book parcel, and the gentleman who had accidentally struck her bent down at once to retrieve it. When he stood back up, Margaret gasped in recognition, drawing his startlingly blue eyes to her face. His mouth opened in a surprised half smile, reminiscent of their last chance encounter at the train station. Margaret’s cheeks pinked becomingly as John held her books out to her. “Miss Hale,” he murmured, his voice magnetic, and Margaret unconsciously drew closer to him, their fingertips brushing one another as the package was exchanged. 

“Mr. Thornton,” she breathed in return, unable to draw her gaze from his face.

“Margaret,” her aunt called shrilly, “the carriage has arrived! Come now!”

Margaret’s gaze faltered, startled by the interruption, and she turned to go to her aunt. Mr. Thornton remained just behind her, hands clasped tightly behind his back, his mouth a thin line, and his eyes downcast at the pavement. “Aunt Shaw,” Margaret began hesitatingly. “I wonder whether you might bring my parcels back with you, and I shall follow you a bit later? I find I have further business here, you see.” John’s eyes snapped up, hopeful, the only sign that he had been considering anything other than his own feet.

Mrs. Shaw looked at Margaret in shock. Surely her niece was not suggesting she be left alone in busy Regent Street, unchaperoned. She opened her mouth to say just that when her attention was caught by the imposing gentleman standing behind Miss Hale. She recognized Mr. Thornton at once, and her mouth snapped shut. Edith was watching these proceedings with interest, and Margaret cast a beseeching look at her cousin. 

“Mama,” Edith said quickly, correctly interpreting Margaret’s silent request. “Come, let’s go home and prepare the afternoon tea. I know that you are tired and hungry, and I’m certain that Margaret and Mr. Thornton will join us directly, will you not?” She directed this last statement in Mr. Thornton’s direction, and he nodded politely. Aunt Shaw looked skeptically at the young couple before her, and then she sternly focused her attention at Mr. Thornton. 

“Mind you come directly. No dilly-dallying about,” she bit off sharply.

“Of course,” Margaret and John replied simultaneously. John smiled sheepishly and Margaret hid her own smile behind her gloved hand. Edith stifled a giggle as her mother huffed out her irritation and climbed into the carriage. Edith reached out and squeezed Margaret’s hand, smiled at John, and followed her mother into the carriage, which drove off presently, leaving a shy-feeling Margaret and a grateful John Thornton on the busy street.

He looked down at her, and Margaret felt the heat of his intense gaze appear on her face. She recalled her vivid dream from the previous night and looked down at her hands, certain he would be able to read her inappropriate thoughts in her eyes. John longed to reach out and hold her in his arms, kiss her, and cradle her face between his palms once again, but he was painfully aware of the busy street on which they stood and the brief amount of time before their presence would be expected back on Harley Street. He needed to find somewhere quiet to speak with her, and quickly. He held out his arm, she took it, and they walked off in silence.


	9. Homecoming

Mr. Thornton kept glancing at Margaret, trying to read the expression on her face. Margaret, filled with mortification at how she had bared her soul to this man in a letter, and unsure whether he had appeared in London coincidentally or because he had come in response to that letter, stared stoically ahead of her, waiting for him to provide some clue as to why he was in town. She inadvertently nibbled at her lip, and John’s attention was drawn there. He wanted to pull her to him and end this charade of civility, but he knew that here, in London, he must behave as a gentleman, for her sake, at least.

A few blocks later, and they were finally free of the industry and congestion of Regent Street. They had entered a quiet residential neighborhood, and a block ahead, Mr. Thornton spied a tidy little green space. If Margaret had not spoken by the time they reached it, he pledged internally, they would stop there a moment and he would open the conversation himself. They continued on in oppressive silence for a few more minutes. Margaret’s eyes never once wavered in their forward gaze, but Mr. Thornton had noticed an increasing pressure in the grip of her hand upon his arm.

At last, they reached the small park, and Mr. Thornton stopped abruptly. He was breathing heavily, not from the exertion of the walk, but from the emotions welling up within him and his efforts to contain them. Margaret took one more step before halting, her hand still clutching John’s arm, and she turned to face him. “Mr. Thornton, I….”

“Margaret,” John spoke in concert, his voice tight with emotion. He looked down, and then nodded for her to continue. His dark lashes obscured his eyes; he was hesitant to declare his feelings for her, lest he cause offense by being too bold, too forthright, and yet he was struggling to contain them.

Margaret swallowed audibly before speaking in a shaky voice, “Pray, continue. Please,” she added. She had removed her hand from his arm, and now clasped it tightly with the other in front of her. 

Mr. Thornton stared at her delicate hands for a moment, envisioning the ring currently burning a hole in his chest pocket upon her slender fourth digit. His lips turned up at the corners at this thought, and his eyes rose to meet hers. He looked so much like that day at the train station—with the exception of his now impeccable dress—that Margaret’s breath caught a bit. Her throat clinched and she swallowed convulsively. The pleased expression on his face smoothed out the worry lines that often creased his brow, and he looked younger, almost playful. His blue eyes bored into hers as he reached out and took her hands, pressing them between his own and bringing them up to his heart. “Margaret,” he said again quietly. “My own Margaret.” He shook his head slightly and closed his eyes for a moment, frustrated to be at a loss for words. She looked up at him, her blue eyes wide and unreserved, and he lost all restraint, forgetting his pledge to himself to behave like a gentleman.

Letting go of her hands, he grasped her around the waist and pulled her to him, heedless of any passersby that might come along, uncaring about the houses that lined this street and those who might happen to peer out their windows. He needed Margaret like he needed air, and he bent his head to claim her lips with his once more. Margaret’s hands instinctively flew around John’s neck, much like they had the day of the riot, and in that moment, she knew that this was her homecoming. She had arrived. She fisted his hair to pull him tighter to her as she rose on her tiptoes to eliminate any distance left between them. Her kisses were fumbling and inexpert, but her desire for him was evident in the attempt.

As John deepened the kiss, marveling at her reciprocity, he clutched at the fabric of Margaret’s dress like a man drowning, and indeed he felt as though he was drowning in the sensation that she was here with him, in his arms, and she was returning his kiss with more enthusiasm than he could have dared hope for. At last, he came up for air with a gasp, and he pressed his forehead to hers. He spotted a bench a few steps away and led them to it, breathless.

Once again, John took both Margaret’s hands in his. They sat quietly for several minutes, just staring at one another and smiling giddily. John absentmindedly toyed with her fingers, internally cursing the barrier of her gloves. Margaret’s relief at having _this_ John back caused her to forget all other considerations. She had no concerns for anyone who might pass by and see her thus—seated with a man on a park bench, holding hands. She cared not that they were going to be late back to Harley Street, no doubt raising disapprobation from her aunt. She smiled broadly as she reflected on how, with only minor differences, John’s reception of her letter had actually quite closely resembled the dream she’d had. He looked at her quizzically, noting the change in her expression, and she shook her head, denying him access to these thoughts, at least for now. She was not yet brave enough to brazenly talk about her affection; it was much easier to show it. 

Looking intently at her, John slowly and gently removed the glove of Margaret’s left hand, the sensation of it sliding down her arm causing her to shiver, and he brought that hand to his lips, kissing it reverently. Margaret could feel the rough callouses of his hands against her own flawless skin, and it was not an unpleasant sensation. He continued to caress her hand without the obstruction of the long, white glove, reveling in the feel of her soft skin against his. She flushed as she imagined those hands elsewhere upon her person. Abruptly, John removed one of his hands to reach inside his pocket and pull out the ring he had impulsively purchased that very day. It was simple and plain—a thin gold band—but John had asked the jeweler to include a small inscription on the interior of the ring: “My love, my heart, my home.”

Margaret’s free hand flew up to her mouth to catch her gasp of surprise, and her eyes filled with sudden tears. She felt, all at once, that she did not deserve this man—this pure and unconditional love of his—and she vowed in that moment to be all that she could for him and with him. With trembling fingers, John placed the ring on Margaret’s finger. It was an imperfect fit—slightly too big—but it immediately felt right to her—like it belonged there. Grasping her tiny hands in his much larger ones, his thumb traced the new addition to her finger as he looked at her once more. “Margaret, I have loved, and I will love you until the end of days. To receive your letter—to know that you share these feelings has completed me such that I did not know I had been an incomplete man until now. With you, my heart is home, and apart from you it can no longer be. Please tell me you have nearly concluded your affairs here in London so that we shall no longer be separated.”

Margaret answered by removing one of her hands from his and pressing it to his cheek. “I’ll be coming home with you, John. There is nothing here to keep me.” She leaned forward to initiate a kiss for the first time, and John was overcome with such strength of feeling that his eyes fluttered shut as he reached up to cradle her face. His thumb traced her temple, finding a hint of a scar there, as they explored one another’s mouths languorously, all concern for their timely arrival at Harley Street forgotten in this far more pleasant homecoming.

He pulled back from her after a time, and his eyes searched her face. Her lips were slightly parted, and she was breathing shallowly from the emotion of the moment. Her eyes were bright and intensely returning his gaze. He reached up and pulled one of the curled tendrils of hair at the side of her face straight and watched it spring back up, smiling to himself. He leaned in once more for a gentle and brief kiss, and then pulled her to her feet by her hands. He may not be a London gentleman, but he did not want to risk the ire of Margaret’s aunt by delaying their return to the house any longer. Margaret smoothed her skirts and replaced her glove upon her hand, reluctantly covering the evidence of John’s love she now wore.

Suddenly, all of Margaret’s shyness dissipated, and she smiled up at John, taking his arm once again and walking with confidence in the direction of Harley Street. She did not expect an enthusiastic reception from her Aunt Shaw, but she no longer concerned herself with her family’s reaction. Whether Aunt Shaw or Mrs. Thornton approved was irrelevant. John Thornton was her family now and all that mattered was that they were secure in one another’s affections at last. She knew that she was still naïve to the ways of a married woman, and she had much to learn about this new relationship, but she at last felt that she knew her own emotions. John was her home, and she was excited to study the blueprints and learn the landscape of his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, folks, this is it. Thanks for coming along for the ride. I have really enjoyed this exercise in writing, and it has reignited a desire to write more often! I am very open to receiving feedback from those who are willing to take the time to provide it, either in the comments or via a message. I feel as though I still have much to learn, and would welcome those with insight to share it. I struggle a bit with plot development, and I'm especially curious to hear whether things dragged, went too quickly, or were too boring/repetitive, unrealistic, etc, in your opinion(s). I can handle constructive criticism!
> 
> Thanks for reading, and special thanks to those of you who have left kudos or taken the time to comment! :) I'm sure those of you who also publish on this site are familiar with that feeling of trepidation/anticipation at receiving those notifications that someone has commented on your work. Those little nuggets provided me with much-needed encouragement to continue trying to improve my craft.
> 
> Best Wishes to all of you for a Happy New Year!


End file.
